


Altitude

by BerityBaker



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, I guess you'll find out, Intergluteal Sex, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Naked Cuddling, Power Outage, Respiratory Problems, Sharing Body Heat, Sharing a Bed, Snowed In, what does that mean?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 08:56:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3375458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BerityBaker/pseuds/BerityBaker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock jumped into a case at a ski resort before checking the local weather, and as a result, he and John are snow-bound.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Altitude

**Author's Note:**

> I had a snow day today, so why not have John and Sherlock snowed in? That's a trope I can never get enough of, as cliche as it is.

"They're predicting one of the worst snowstorms this part of Austria has seen in decades," John said, flipping off the telly and turning to Sherlock, who was busy on his laptop.

"Hm," was Sherlock's only response.

"Don't you think it might have been a good idea to check the weather before you decided to waltz off to a dodgy ski resort for a case?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, but didn't look up. "Would you rather I had continued to 'sulk around the flat like a three-year-old'? Your words, if I recall."

"I would rather not get snowed in."

"It's snowing just as much in London."

"Yes, but there are people to take care of the roads there. Not to mention actual roads to take care of. And getting snowed in at home is very different from being stuck in a tiny cabin with a frustrated Sherlock Holmes."

"Just because--"

Sherlock was cut off by the wind howling around them. When it ceased, he continued. "Just because they're predicting it, doesn't mean it'll actually be that bad."

"It doesn't matter if it's as bad as they say it will be, Sherlock!" John sputtered. "There's already ten feet of snow out there. If there's a blizzard at all, let alone the one they're predicting, we're going to be stuck in this cabin for days. Maybe even _weeks_."

"Please stop overreacting, John."

"I'm not overreacting."

"You're exaggerating. You love to exaggerate."

"I don't love freezing to death."

Sherlock sighed and shut his laptop. "Relax, John. We will be _fine_. Nothing's going to happen."

As soon as he'd said it, there was a hum of dying electronics throughout the two rooms that made up the cabin. John gave him a look.

"Okay, we've lost power. But I'm sure it'll be back in a few hours, tops."

+++

"N-not long now," Sherlock said a few hours later, shivering. He and John were curled up under about fifty blankets from the cupboard.

"Y-y-you are s-so bloody s-stubborn. You're rid-diculous."

"I won-wonder if the lodge is open."

"Sherlock, there's n-no p-point." John tried to hang onto his arm as he crawled out from under the blankets and opened the door.

"Oh." There was a wall of snow packed into the shape of the door. The wind could no longer be heard.

"Sh-sherlock, get away from the door. Get back under the blanket."

Sherlock did not hesitate in rejoining John on the sofa.

"Can't we call Mycroft?"

"Already sent him a t-text. He said it might take a couple days to get in."

"P-perfect." John looked around at the tiny room. "Have you got any ideas about what to do til this blows over?"

"Stay warm."

John glared at him from the corner of his eye. "There is exactly one thing we could do to get warmer, and it is n-not h-happening."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You're an idiot."

"Yeah, well, _you're_ the reason we're here."

They sat in silence for what seemed like hours, constant shuddering keeping them awake. John glanced over at Sherlock.

"Jesus, Sherlock, come here," he said, tugging his arms out of his coat. "Your lips are blue."

"Altitude sickness," Sherlock muttered.

"Take your coat off."

"What? Why?"

"And your shirt. Your trousers. All of it. And lie down."

"That doesn't actually work, John."

"It can't hurt. We'll still use your coat, don't worry."

Sherlock didn't need to be told twice. Soon his feet were nestled in a pile of clothing, and John's arms were wrapped around his middle. "Do you really think this will help?"

"Can't hurt," John repeated.

Sherlock sighed at the feeling of John's chest against his back. As many times as he'd imagined that feeling, he'd never anticipated the current circumstances, although considering his job and their track record, he probably should have. It wasn't the perfect moment he'd hoped for, but that didn't change the fact that it felt nice. A lot nicer than he was expecting, actually. He sighed again.

He was still shivering a few moments later, and John asked, "You alright?"

"Yes," Sherlock replied. "Could be warmer."

John laughed softly. He was no longer shivering, but he could feel Sherlock shaking against him. It wasn't helping him sort through things, like why he'd decided to strip down and cuddle Sherlock when he knew perfectly well that it was not a medically sound treatment for hypothermia. He also knew Sherlock wasn't suffering from it--his heart rate was too close to normal, and he'd been right about the altitude sickness: his lips had been slightly blue since they'd arrived on the mountain. But being in closer proximity was making them warmer, even if Sherlock's shivering was sending blood to interesting places.

"John?"

"Hm?" Shit.

"Are _you_ alright?"

"Of course."

"Do you..." He trailed off.

"What is it, Sherlock?" he sighed.

"I was just wondering if you were...um...if you're uncomfortable at all."

"No," John lied, willing Sherlock not to mention the harness pressed against his arse.

"Alright. Just curious."

They fell back into quiet, and eventually into sleep.

+++

Sherlock woke first, the cabin still shrouded in darkness, even though the time indicated by his dying phone was 10:34 AM. "Fantastic," he mumbled, then shifted slightly, pressing himself further back into John.

"Ungh," John groaned when he did, and shifted himself.

"John."

"Sh'lock," John slurred.

Sherlock turned his head as far as he could. "John?"

" _Oh_ ," John gasped, and when his hips ground against Sherlock's backside, Sherlock realized he was still asleep.

" _John_ ," he whispered urgently, unsure what to do. "John!" he said aloud.

John jumped awake. "What, what's wrong?" he grunted.

"You...er, you were..."

"Oh." His eyes went wide. " _Oh_. Oh, God, Sherlock, I'm sorry."

Sherlock shook his head. "Um, no, I'm...flattered." He silently chastised himself. _Flattered?_

"Still, I'm...I'm sorry."

Sherlock decided to fix his own misstep. He wiggled his arse.

John gasped.

"It's perfectly alright, John," Sherlock stated clearly, hoping he put his intent across.

John stared at him. "I--I didn't know you wanted to."

"You never asked. Well, except for that first night, but in my defense, I didn't actually know you yet."

"You knew everything about me!"

Sherlock paused. "I didn't."

"Oh, really."

"No!"

"Okay, then, what do you know now that escaped your omniscience before, oh _Sherlock the Magnificent_?"

"How was I supposed to know I'd fall in love with you?" Sherlock shot at him, then nearly put a hand over his mouth.

John was silent for a long time. "Oh."

"Yes. Well. The point is, I would like to. If...if you do. Want to."

John propped himself up enough to turn Sherlock's head and kiss him deeply. "Yes. I do. God, yes. You have no idea how long I've wanted to."

"Then you should've said something."

"You could've said something, git," John laughed.

"Well, now we've both said something, can we get on with it?" Sherlock grumbled.

John grinned and let one of his hands trail down along Sherlock's ribs. Sherlock's breath hitched. That felt much better than he'd expected it to. _Much_ better.

Sherlock pressed against John, wriggling in his grasp and creating as much friction as he could for the erection that pressed back.

John threw his head back. "Sherlock," he breathed, his heart pounding against Sherlock's back. "My God, Sherlock."

"Mmm, not quite, but if you insist," Sherlock responded. John retaliated for the cheeky answer by taking Sherlock's cock in hand and giving it one long, hard stroke.

" _John_."

"Hm?"

"Keep doing that, please."

"Keep doing what?" John stroked again.

"Oh, God, _that_."

"If you insist."

Sherlock jerked his hips back roughly. "What do _you_ want?"

"Oh, fuck, I don't know. Everything. But, considering we don't have lube, the options are a bit limited at the moment."

Sherlock reached behind himself to spread his cheeks and pushed back again so that John's prick slotted between them. "Good?"

" _Very_ good," John said. His voice was high and breathy, and his back arched as he began to thrust. His head caught on Sherlock's rim once or twice, drawing small whimpers from him. He kept his hand on Sherlock's cock, pumping it at the same tempo, letting his thumb periodically graze the slit and catch the beads of fluid that gathered there.

"John--oh, _yes_ , there," Sherlock whined, finally breaking loose and fucking John's fist.

John rocked his hips in turn, feeling the build in his gut. He traced a finger up Sherlock's spine. He stopped at his nape and dragged his fingers through curls so cold they almost felt wet.

"John, I don't--I can't--oh, God," Sherlock moaned. He shuddered, and John wondered for a split second whether he was coming. Instead, his hand went to John's hip and his movements were more frantic, his breaths shorter even than before.

In fact, he was almost flat-out wheezing now.

"Sherlock?" John almost stilled, but Sherlock's response was to grunt indignantly and push back, so he kept going. "Sherlock, are you alright?"

"Fine," he panted. "I just...the altitude..."

John put his foot down. "Alright, we've got to stop if you can't breathe."

"No! I'll be...fine. Stopping now would be...much more uncomfortable..."

"Alright, but stop moving so much and just let me finish you off, yeah?"

Sherlock agreed, but reluctantly, and before long he was coming over John's fingers with a shout.

He collapsed against him, chest heaving and heart pounding.

"At least we know you're not hypothermic." John chuckled, and Sherlock let out an airy laugh.

"You can keep going while...while I catch my breath, you know," Sherlock pointed out.

"Right." John shook his head, regaining his bearings after the fright Sherlock had given him.

" _John_ ," Sherlock complained, and shoved his arse against him once again.

A few more thrusts and John was joining him in the haze, though not breathing nearly as heavily.

"How is it you're so ill-equipped for high altitudes?"

"My guess?" Sherlock replied. "Probably cigarettes."

"I'm glad that's done, then. Sorry about the scare, love."

"I wasn't frightened, you were the one who had to stop to go into 'doctor mode.'"

"Oh, I'm sorry for loving you," John mumbled, rolling his eyes.

Sherlock froze. "What?"

"I..." John realized what he'd said, but knew it was far from untrue. "I love you, idiot."

Sherlock stared at John over his shoulder for a very long time, but turned away without uttering a single word.

John yawned. "I wonder when Mycroft will be by to pick us up."

"Oh, please, can we not talk about Mycroft after we've just had sex?"

John laughed. "You don't want to get out of here?"

"Yes, I suppose that would be nice, but I don't necessarily fancy thinking of my brother as the subject of our first post-sexual encounter conversation."

"Well, I think it's a bit late for that. You're the one who made the conversation about him."

Sherlock scoffed. "You brought him up. It better not happen next time."

There was a certain pitch in Sherlock's voice, a tone that made his words unsure, like a question.

"Of course not," John replied. "Nor the time after that, nor the time after that."

It was a long while before Sherlock said, "Good."

"Say, now my heart rate's gone back to normal, I'm getting a bit cold again."

"Another round?" Sherlock sounded intrigued.

"In a bit, perhaps. Don't think I could right this instant."

Sherlock sighed. "I suppose I'll wait, then."

John grinned and leaned over to kiss him.

By three that day, they were stepping out into sunlight. When Mycroft saw them hand in hand, he put his fingers to his temple and groaned, because although he'd seen it coming, and he was glad Sherlock found someone who kept him at least partially tamed, he knew that the two of them together meant trouble that even he would have problems containing.

**Author's Note:**

> Forgive my virginal ass for my inexperience in writing smut. There are just never enough snowed-in fics. I am a smut reader, not a non-cliche smut writer. Also, forgive me for that ending. Sheesh.


End file.
